


the garden walls grow quick

by TheDragonofHouseMormont



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Horror, Inspired by The Haunting of Hill House, also some inspiration from we have always lived in the castle, but like the shirley jackson kind of horror, if you've read that book you'll pick up on it in the prologue, not quite a muggle au, takes place vaguely in the late 1950s
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:14:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29526243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDragonofHouseMormont/pseuds/TheDragonofHouseMormont
Summary: Dr. Tom Riddle, professor of anthropology, invites three strangers to participate in his experiment to prove the supernatural. All they have to do is live in Hangleton House for one summer, and record any weird experiences they have along the way.Harry Potter has never been anywhere. This adventure sounds like the perfect start to the rest of his life.He was never going back to the Dursleys. He’d die before he did. | a hill house au
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 11
Kudos: 56





	1. anatomy of a home (a prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> title is from "Blue Pool" by Vanessa Carlton (the garden walls grow quick/before you know you're outside of it/and the ivy's coming in/it's so beautiful if you can find it)  
> My original plan had been to start writing this after I'd finished A Hollow Grave. But then I got tired of living through historical events, and the hill house novel is - no joke - a form of self care for me. It terrifies me, sure, but I also always feel so comfortable when I read it. So basically, I'm writing this fic as a form of self care. Hopefully, it brings you a weird combination of cozy and spooky, too.

It had never really occurred to Harry that he might one day leave the Dursley’s house. He had wished for it, of course, and dreamt of it occasionally, waking in the night with a deep sense of loss. But he had never formed a real plan. Even when Vernon was at his worst, or Dudley at his most vicious, Petunia would still wake Harry as the sun rose, bruised and exhausted, and put him to work. Dreams and wishes were tucked away every morning in the hope that he might survive the day.

How could he make plans? He had no money, and the Dursleys would never let him earn any. If they did, they would inevitably claim he owed it to _them_. After all, they had taken him in as a baby out of the kindness of their hearts. They had fed him and clothed him, and now they expected him to pay them back for every year that they had housed him. And since they were still housing him, that just added more time to his sentence. There wasn’t any way out. Even if he did manage to get a little money, he had nowhere to go. He had no friends that could take him in, no relatives but the Dursleys.

Then came the letter. Harry had gone to fetch the mail, as he did every day, and there mixed with with bills and advertisements was a letter addressed to him. In nineteen years of life, Harry had never received post from anyone. He quickly tucked the mysterious paper away into his shirt, and kept it there, sticking to his skin, until he was allowed a little break to eat breakfast out of their sight.

The envelope, slightly damp from his summer sweat, had been sent by a Dr. Tom Riddle. Harry quickly recalled every doctor and Tom he had ever known, and there wasn’t a Riddle among them. Tearing it open, his eyes quickly scanned the content. His first thought was that it had to be a prank. But it would be an odd prank. Either the letter itself was a joke, or there was some kind of plan to lure him in and scare him for laughs. He tucked it away again, and got back to work.

But that night, as he lay in bed and let the wishes rise to the surface once again, he pulled the letter from its hiding place. Perhaps it didn’t matter if it was a prank, it was still a destination. It was a place that he could go, maybe earn some money, and then figure out what to do from there.

That had been two weeks ago. It was just past one in the morning, and Harry pulled out the old schoolbag that had been giving to him when Dudley had gotten a brand new one. Harry didn’t own many clothes - a few pairs of trousers, a few shirts, socks, and underwear, all worn and patched. He folded and rolled them all, and shoved them tightly into the bag. There wasn’t much else that he owned. Maybe that would finally change.

He glanced back down at the original invitation. He had written back the day after receiving it to accept. The invitation somehow managed to be exciting without being frightening, considering its content, and Harry rather admired its ability to strike that balance. _You are invited_ , it said in typewritten letters, _to join a groundbreaking study of the behaviors of the supernatural. The study will take place at Hangleton House on the outskirts of Little Hangleton. You have been selected for this study based on your previous experiences with the supernatural. Room and board will be covered for the entirety of the summer, and participants will be paid for their contribution._ It included a description of what Dr. Riddle considered to be Harry’s past experiences with the supernatural. They were a couple of incidences from when he was a kid involving appearing on a roof and setting a python loose in a zoo.

He didn’t think much of those incidences himself; they had been easily explained to him as him acting out, and he had been severely punished for doing so. Whatever he had said to journalists or police had just been the product of an active imagination. But Harry had never received an invitation before. To receive one now about the supernatural and an important study was more adventure than he had previously hoped he could have, and he would take it. He’d even looked up Little Hangleton and found that it was in an entirely different county. He had never been out of the county before. He had never been out of Little Whinging.

He grabbed his bag and the little bundle of money he’d stolen from where Petunia kept it in the jar of cornstarch. It wasn’t all of the money she’d stashed there; he couldn’t bring himself to take much more than what he’d need for the bus journey. Glancing around the little bedroom one last time, making sure he had everything, a small sadness bubbled up at just how bare it really was. Harry closed his eyes for a second, took a breath, and walked over to the window. He lifted it open as slowly and quietly as he could, and carefully climbed out.

Luna Lovegood had never needed to know that she was destined for great things. She was already great, and had no need for could-bes or what-ifs. Ever since her mother’s death, she and her father lived in a secluded house, a good distance from town. Luna loved town, and walked there once a week for the food they couldn’t grow in the garden and for books from the library. The people in town never had much time to listen to her stories about the latest blibbering humdinger that had wandered into her garden, or the wrackspurts which gathered ceaselessly about their heads, but she forgave them for their busy schedules.

She loved home and she loved her father, but she hadn’t really been anywhere else yet. Dr. Riddle’s invitation was exactly what she had been waiting for. She’d always considered herself to be a woman of science, an observer of the natural world, so with a kiss to her father’s cheek, and a promise to return at the end of summer with tales of all that she would help discover, Luna packed her bag.

Had anyone ever asked Hermione Granger what she wanted to do with her life, she would have paused for several moments before answering, in as measured a way as she could manage, that she would like to go to university where she could study any number of subjects, and figure out what it was she truly wanted. But no one ever asked. Hermione had learned long ago that most people had no interest in what she had to say, and that she should keep to her books until their unkind words could be drowned out by the voices of writers past and her own thoughts.

It wasn’t that her parents didn’t care about her interests, but they were often busy keeping their dental clinic running. Throughout her childhood, they had always set aside a little money each month to make sure that she had the best books and whatever supplies she needed to be successful at school. In exchange, Hermione met her parents at the end of every busy day, and explained to them all that she had learned. University, however, cost a bit more money than that, especially since they didn’t live near any. So instead of attending classes, Hermione had spent the days since graduation working as the receptionist for her parents’ clinic, and saving any money she could for that often dreamt-of _some day_.

 _Some day_ was apparently closer than she could have hoped for, when Dr. Riddle’s letter arrived at her door. The stipend he promised to pay any participants wasn’t extravagant, but if she planned things right, it would be enough.

Tom Riddle had always known he was destined for great things, even when he was a small, scrawny child neglected in a orphanage. His suitcase shut and locked with a click, and he lifted it off the bed. It was the last of the things that he needed to load into his car before heading out. It would be a long drive back to Little Hangleton. He hadn’t stepped foot in that town for nearly fifteen years, not since days spent in public libraries and records rooms sorting through old newspapers, crime reports, and land records had led him to the doorstep of the very house he would now drive to.

This was the next step toward great things. He had gotten into university using his inherited funds, worked all the way up through his doctorate at practically break-neck speed, and ruthlessly fought his way into a tenure-track position. It lent him the credibility and resources to do what he planned to do now: to do great things.

The sun was just starting to rise when Harry reached the transfer point of his trip. The bus stop where the two lines met was just a little bench on a wooded road in the middle of nowhere. He had slept through the early hours of the trip, and was a little thankful for his lingering sleepiness, as it kept his anxiety at bay. Petunia was probably awake by now. Was she headed down the hall to his room this minute? Had she already knocked on his door to demand breakfast? How long before she suspected that he’d run away, and went to tell her husband? Harry could so easily picture Vernon’s anger, and quickly pushed it from his mind.

The road around him was quiet, and the light drifting in through the trees was so peaceful. What would it be like to live in a place like this? He could wake up with the sunlight in the morning, and eat a small breakfast that was just for him. Then he could set out from his little cottage and walk to work. What would he do? Maybe he’d work the front desk at a veterinarian, and get to know all the pets in town. Or he could work in a restaurant. He didn’t really like cooking, but he’d been doing it for so long that the skill might come in handy. Maybe he could work in a restaurant to get by until he found a job he liked.

His next bus came rumbling down the road, breaking up the morning silence. He stood up from the bench and held out his hand, so that the bus would stop. He didn’t know what the buses here were like, but sometimes in Little Whinging, even if you were seated at the stop, without a signal they would assume you weren’t interested.

The bus pulled to a stop in front of him, and he climbed the steep steps to board, dropping the coins into the box. He plopped down into a seat by a window, and leaned his head against the glass. Outside, the countryside sped past in blurs of green and brown, getting increasingly brighter as the morning dragged on.

His stomach rumbled almost painfully, but he ignored it, pushing it to the back of his mind. Instead, he stared out at the town the bus was passing through. It would be alright, maybe, to get whatever job he could in a little town like that. There were rows of houses, a pub. He caught sight of what looked to be the edge of a town center. He would take any job and work to survive, but instead of going back to his bedroom at the end of the day, he’d have friends to go out with. Every day, after work, he could meet with them at the pub or some festival in the town center. He would laugh with them, and stay out until late. Going home wouldn’t be some sad affair; rather it would be a chance to rest so he could wake up and enjoy the day all over again.

The view through the window transformed into long stretches of farmland, with little roads scattered between. He noticed a few farmhands here and there, as the world was waking up. The farmland occasionally gave way to another small town, all of them like little stars in the vast space of crops and cattle. The bus made several stops, sometimes on the edge of towns, sometimes at little lone benches like the one he had waited at.

Up ahead, through the windshield, Harry could see trees again. Before the bus could head for them, the driver announced “Little Hangleton” in the same clear tone he had announced all the previous stops. It took a moment for the name to register, and then Harry quickly pulled the cord to signal his stop.

The bus pulled up to another bench on the corner of a street that looked to lead directly through the town. Harry climbed down the steps and stared at the road ahead of him. This town held Hangleton House somewhere at the edge of its borders. He’d just have to find a store or a cafe where someone could give him directions. Lifting his bag more securely onto his shoulder, Harry took his first steps in a brand new town.


	2. kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry arrives at Hangleton House.

No cab would take him up to the house. He had _tried_ , but no one in town wanted to get close. So, with his bag slung over one shoulder, Harry made the long, exhausting walk there. Hangleton House was six miles from the town of Little Hangleton. The very idea of walking that far made him want to lay down and sleep in the dirt, but he knew he’d suffered worse in the past.

Besides, he reminded himself, at the end of it would be the start of his great summer. The beginning of the rest of his life. The road was dusty, bordered on both sides by dry-looking greenery. It was beautiful in its own way; it was alive. Behind the shrubs were a smattering of trees, and Harry wondered if there would be trees at Hangleton House as well. Maybe he could climb them, that would be fun. In the past he’d climbed trees to get away from Dudley, who was never all that good at climbing, but he could only choose that escape if Dudley’s friends weren’t there to help. Maybe trees could be a fun escape from the day-to-day tasks of life. He imagined himself climbing a tree and leaning back against its branches to stare out at a beautiful view.

The muscles in his thighs began stinging by the time Hangleton House came into view in the distance. The pain, unfortunately, reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since dinner the previous night, but he kept walking. It didn’t matter if he was feeling a little weak, the house was right there, and he’d be able to eat and rest soon.

As he approached the house, he saw that the way was blocked by a tall, iron gate, the doors of which were held closed by a huge, locked chain. He grasped the bars of the gate and leaned his forehead against it for a moment, just to take a breath. Then he leaned back and shook the bars. “Hello? Is anyone there?” He rattled the lock of the chain, as well, for good measure, and because he didn’t want to look like a fool if it proved to be unlocked after all.

For a few seconds, he thought he’d have to sit here and wait until one of the others drove past and let him in - though surely they’ve all arrived at the house by now? But no cars had driven past during his walk. A sound to the side startled him from his thoughts, and he glanced up to see a man who was probably younger than he looked. He had soft brown hair and deep scars across his face.

The man eyed him cautiously as he approached the gate. “Your name?”

“Harry Potter,” he answered quickly, wanting to be inside as soon as possible. “I’m here for Dr. Riddle’s experiment.”

The man nodded, pulling a key from his pocket. “I am Remus Lupin, the caretaker.” The chain slowly, loudly pulled from its hold around the two sides of the gate, and Lupin pushed it open. “Did you walk here?”

“No one from town would drive me.”

“That’s not surprising to hear.” Once Harry had stepped through the gate, Lupin moved to lock it again. “Most people in town prefer to ignore the House altogether. A few of them probably want to burn it down.” He gestured for Harry to walk beside him. “You’re the first to arrive, so far.”

“Really?” Harry couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice if he wanted to. “It took me so long to get here, I had assumed I’d be the last.”

“It’s just around lunch time now,” Lupin informed him, glancing down at the watch on his wrist. “They’ll likely arrive in the next hour or so.”

Fortunately, the walk to the house wasn’t nearly as long as the walk from town. Within in minutes they were walking up the steps to the front door, Harry’s legs protesting. He felt nearly faint, and was glad that he owned slow little. He hadn’t even glanced much at the house itself, only got the sense that it was very large.

Lupin opened the massive front door of the house, and Harry got his first glimpse of its interior. The entrance hall was large and grand. The walls were all a natural wood, stained dark. Leaves were carved into the equally dark wooden columns. Yet, despite all the dark tones, the room seemed light and welcoming with the sunlight streaming in through the high windows that ran along the front wall and part of the connecting walls. In the center, though a normal room’s length away, was a huge, grand staircase with gold banisters. It led up to a second floor where Harry assumed their bedrooms for the summer must be.

He assumed, as well, that would be where the caretaker would lead him next, but Lupin surprised him by stepping between him and the staircase. “You look like you could eat something,” he said simply, eying Harry with something close to concern. So, instead of the stairs, Lupin headed toward a doorway left of the staircase, and Harry followed, unsure what else he could do. And he _was_ hungry.

The doorway led to a long corridor filled with closed doors, at the end of which was a plain, white door that Lupin pushed open, revealing a kitchen. “This isn’t where guests will typically dine,” Lupin told him. “The dining room is closer to the entrance hall. But you will all have access to the kitchen. Part of my job will be to have breakfast on the table at nine, and dinner at six. I won’t stay past six, and I don’t prepare extra meals for guests. But, well, you look like you haven’t eaten properly in years.”

Harry took the gestured queue to sit down at the little kitchen table. “That’s probably true.” The room was as white as its door. The walls were white, the stove - which looked old and fancy - was white. The fridge, the counters, the cabinets were all white. It was likely a nightmare to keep clean, but it, too, had large windows that set the whole room alight. They took up the rounded wall opposite the door, and were broken up only by French doors that opened to a terrace. It felt like maybe the happiest room Harry had ever sat down in.

Lupin busied about with bread, tomatoes, and cheese. “Don’t your parents feed you?”

He found he had no desire to lie or hide anything from Lupin. “My parents died when I was a baby. I grew up with relatives who never really liked me much.”

“That’s a shame.” Lupin placed a sandwich and a glass of water down in front of him. He smiled kindly, and Harry felt a wave of affection for this stranger. Were people outside of Little Whinging generally this nice?

The sandwich tasted wonderfully of basil and a heavy mozzarella. The water was so cool and refreshing that it almost made him forget the difficult walk from town. When he was finished, he automatically stood up and carried the plate and glass to the sink. But, catching Lupin’s confused and concerned gaze, merely set them down in the sink, and didn’t wash them. It felt strange not to wash his dishes, and he half expected to be yelled at for it. But the other half of him didn’t want to make the mistake of washing them when it wasn’t his place to do so. Later, he thought, he’d wash his own dishes after dinner.

Lupin led him back to the entrance hall, and finally up the grand staircase. “I don’t stay past six,” he said, his voice much more serious than it had been in the kitchen. “I leave before it gets dark. No one but you four will be here at night. There will be no one else, if you need help. The town is six miles away, and no one will come any closer than that in the night, in the dark.”

Could this place really be that much scarier at night? Harry couldn’t imagine so. Perhaps the shadows could deepen along the carvings and the decor pieces. Maybe the rooms seemed colder and larger when there wasn’t so much sunlight pouring in. But he couldn’t imagine it being so frightening that an entire town would stay away. It was likely due to whatever legends got passed around about this place, he decided.

“I will be back in the morning to make breakfast, as you know,” Lupin continued. “And I will be here during the daylight hours. I take my own lunch at one. I don’t wait on people, but I will answer questions about the house.”

Harry had several questions already, but he assumed that Lupin meant questions about where the bathroom was, and not about why everyone could be so frightened of such a beautiful place, so he kept his questions to himself.

They stopped outside a wooden door, which Lupin promptly opened. The bedroom was larger than any Harry had ever seen. It was _luxurious_. The walls were a vibrant, soft yellow wallpaper with white trim. There was a large window, below which was a cushioned window-seat. The center of the room was taken up by what looked to be a king-sized bed covered in a heavy blanket and far too many pillows. A canopy draped above it.

There was an old, wooden dresser beside the door, and a wardrobe with an ornate floral painting opposite it. Nearer the window was a little writing desk with a chair fit for a dining room. And opposite the window was another door that led where Harry knew not.

His feet carried him to the center of the room in a daze. He felt so underdressed for so lovely a room, and swallowed down the sense of shame as he dropped his old bag on top of the bed. “This place is magnificent.”

The corner of Lupin’s mouth turned up as he observed Harry taking in the room. “I’ll let you get settled in. Remember, dinner is at six.”

“Got it!” Harry told him as he spun around, taking in all the finery of the room. He dropped backward onto the bed and let it bounce him gently. Staring up into the draping fabric of the canopy, an absurd laugh bubbled up from some place inside him that he hadn’t known was there.

Just that morning he had been at the Dursley’s, where his bedroom was a cage. They surely knew he was gone by now. Did they report his disappearance? He doubted it. What would they tell people when he never came back? Would they say that he was ungrateful? Or would they twist the story to paint themselves as heroes, and say that they suspected him of some awful crime, and turned him into the police?

He was never going back. He’d die before he did.

Harry sat up and glanced around the empty room. It was only for the summer, but it was a great start to the rest of his life. Opening the bag, he pulled out his tattered, secondhand, too-large clothes and grimaced. There were some aspects of his old life he couldn’t shed yet, not until he had the money.

Staring at the wardrobe forlornly, he briefly dreamed of what it would be like to have fine shirts and jackets worth hanging in it. For now, he walked back to the dresser, and placed his things within its drawers.

Once that was done, he neared the window and considered spending an hour or so on the window-seat. He didn’t have a book to read, but his old bedroom window had only a view of the next house over, and a little glimpse of the street. This window had a long, expansive view of the driveway and front garden. There was a courtyard with rose bushes in full bloom, and trees further down the driveway.

Nearer to the house, however, were two cars, where the driveway had previously been empty. One looked to be only a few years old; a gray colored four-door. The other was either brand new or twenty years old, he could tell; it was a pale blue two-door that had a strange sense of whimsy to it. Though Harry couldn’t imagine who owned such cars, he knew it meant that at least two other people had arrived.

Excited, Harry dashed to the bedroom door and swung it open. The corridor was empty, save for the art on the walls, and the occasional side table hosting various vases. He strode down it, following the curve of the house, and turning left down another corridor when it seemed like it would lead him further into the house, rather than just to the back end. He couldn’t even imagine what all these rooms contained. Who needed that many rooms in their house?

It was yet another couple of minutes before he heard distant laughter and chatter. His pace picked up again, heading in the direction of the sounds. Near the end of a sunlit hallway was an open door. He stopped just outside it, peering in.

The bedroom wasn’t dissimilar from his in terms of layout. The color scheme was what made it distinct, however, and the bedding, the curtains, and the walls were washed in a pale blue that reminded him strangely of the car parked just outside. In the room, standing between the bed and the window, were two women.

One of them had bushy hair, and as she was facing the door, she noticed him first. He had been caught in her periphery, and she fell silent, glancing up at him. The other girl, whose hair was long and blond, stopped as her friend did, and turned to follow her gaze.

“Hi,” Harry said, and immediately felt ridiculous. He shouldn’t have ran here, he shouldn’t have interrupted them. It was rude, and they probably wouldn’t like him much for it.

However, the first girl did respond with a calm “Hello”, just as a bright smile spread across the face of the other one.

 _Be bold_ , he told himself in the awkward silence that began to settle. He stepped further into the room, holding his hand out. “Harry,” he told them. “Did you two just arrive?”

“Yes!” the second girl answered, grasping his hand in greeting. “I’m Luna. By a wonderful chance, Hermione and I arrived at the house at the same time.”

“Oh, do you already know each other?” It hadn’t previously occurred to him that he might be on uneven footing with the others.

To his surprise, Hermione shook her head. “We actually just met on the front steps of the house.”

“It’s a beautiful house,” Harry found himself saying. Was it a strange thing to say? He could tell, separating himself from the statement, that it looked like an uncomfortable piece of small talk. In his case, however, he meant it. It _was_ a beautiful house in how it loomed tall into the sky, in how it sprawled inside in seemingly endless corridors and rooms, each with their own personality.

Surprising him again, Hermione and Luna nodded. “It’s very alive,” Luna said in agreement. ‘Alive’ wasn’t a word that Harry had thought of before, but now that it was said, he realized it was correct. Hangleton House seemed to breathe, to pulse with energy. “You met Mr. Lupin,” she added quite plainly.

“I. I did.” It was odd how she stated it rather than ask, but she clearly wasn’t wrong.

“I can see his kindness still hanging about you,” she explained.

Harry opened his mouth to inquire further, but stopped. There hadn’t been a peculiar sound or wind to disturb him, but something simply felt different. Changed. His eyes traced the lines of sunlight across the floor, but they didn’t shift. The air, even, seemed as still as before. But he knew.

Down hall after hall, far in the distance, a door slammed, the sound reverberating back to them. Harry wondered about it, briefly, not remembering any similar sounds from Hermione and Luna’s entrances, even as they came closer to his room in the house than the front door. And it was the front door they had just heard, he was certain of it.

“That’s him,” Luna said, as if it wasn’t lunacy that they all seemed aware that a fifth person had entered the house. “Dr. Riddle, the man who invited us.”

For a moment, none of them moved, but then at once, they all turned and headed for the door. It was with a different energy than that which carried Harry to the two of them. He felt compelled to the front of the house, but he didn’t feel like rushing there out of excitement. There wasn’t any tangible reason for apprehension, but something like it curled inside him anyway. He let Hermione take the lead, barely noticing his surroundings as they made their way to the grand staircase, and down its steps.

Around the width of her hair, he could see Lupin’s back as the man spoke softly with someone in front of the entrance. There was a suitcase, and another couple cases of some sort. Someone was moving near them, bent over one of the cases, but Harry couldn’t see him.

Then the man stood up, tall enough and at just the right angle that his face was visible between the obstacles of Hermione and Lupin. Dr. Riddle wasn’t anything like Harry had expected. He was younger, about ten years older than Harry, maybe. More than that, he was beautiful. His dark hair was just long enough to start curling, his face had a sharpness to it that looked sculpted. His eyes were brown and expressive, filled with an active energy as they glanced from the case to Lupin. Though he continued speaking, Dr. Riddle’s gaze moved suddenly to the side, catching on Harry’s.

That same feeling from earlier, the same feeling that had told Harry of Riddle’s arrival, returned like an abrupt shift in the air itself. Harry was captivated.


	3. upstairs drawing room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the experiment begins

The drawing room they wound up in after dinner was not the one downstairs, intended for guests. Harry had been momentarily taken aback by the fact that there was more than one drawing room, but there were so many rooms in this house, that it made a sort of sense for them to repeat. They couldn’t all be bedrooms.

He hadn’t seen the drawing room downstairs, and assumed that Hermione and Luna hadn’t either. Dr. Riddle described it for them as a large, cold room with massive windows that overlooked the front garden. Suitable for large gatherings, but spacious to the point of being uncomfortable for just four people. Instead, he directed them to a room on the second floor. This drawing room was relatively small, just a little bit bigger than the bedroom that had been assigned to him. He liked it, really, as a glance at the windows told him just how dark it got in the evenings here. The windows, more normal in their size, revealed the pitch black landscape which surrounded them. The very thought of seeing that landscape through the larger windows downstairs sent a shiver down his spine. It felt like, in the dark nothing, anything could be watching them, but at least it was confined to the smaller apertures of this room. It made it easier to ignore the dark.

“What about you, Harry?” Luna asked, drawing him back into the conversation. He quickly sorted through his mind’s passive collection of the words that had been spoken before her question, in case he was expected to respond to them. Riddle had briefly explained his occupation as an anthropology professor. “You must do something fascinating for a living; your aura is so colorful.”

Though her inquiry set his heart beating, he did his best to calm it down. There was humor in her question, as if she expected he did something quite boring, despite how colorful his aura apparently was. Then again, maybe Luna was the type to find boring occupations fascinating. Even then, he couldn’t just tell her the truth. Best then, to play into the humor. “Oh yeah, I’m a famous athlete.” Their polite laughter spurred him on. “Captain of the team. I make loads of money.”

“I understand completely,” Hermione jumped in. “I’m the Prime Minister. I’m drafting a bill now that will improve all our lives.”

“Is it going to make us all rich?” Harry asked in as serious a voice as he could manage.

Hermione nodded fervently. “Very rich. We’ll live like kings. I’ll have just. A room. A room full of paper. All different kinds of papers, with so many different colors and textures.”

“I’m going to get one of those couches,” Harry added, “That you lay on while someone feeds you grapes. I’m rich enough for the grapes now, but I have to sit in a regular armchair while someone feeds them to me.”

Luna looked absolutely delighted by the turn of events. “I’m going to go to the moon.” She stood on the cushion of her seat, propping one foot on the back. “I’ll be known as the pioneer of moon adventuring.”

Riddle’s concerned gaze was fixed at the point where Luna’s posed foot connected with the back of the sofa. Luna ignored it completely as she turned to face him. “And you, Dr. Riddle? What will you do when you’re rich.”

The concerned fell from his face as he seemed to actually contemplate her question. “I’d do this, what we’re here for this summer. It has been my primary goal for several years now.”

Luna dropped carefully back into her seat. “How inspiring. We’re here to watch your dreams come true.”

“You’re here to help make them happen,” he corrected, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “You’re probably all wondering what this experiment will entail, why this house, and what to expect.” Harry nodded without even thinking. He assumed the others did as well, as Riddle continued, “Hangleton House has stood on the outskirts of Little Hangleton for a little over a hundred years. From what I’ve been able to learn, it didn’t always have the reputation it has now. In the first few decades after its construction, it seemed to be a perfectly pleasant manor. A death here or there went unremarked upon - people die, and they logically have to be _somewhere_ when that happens. The house where they live is a typical place to die. One death in a house is normal, two even. Three deaths in as many decades is enough to joke about a haunting. It wasn’t until the fourth death - a maid fell down the main staircase - that it began to gain a true reputation as a haunted house. The people from town who worked here claimed that open doors would shut just as they were going to walk through them. They would hear things at night - whispers, shouts, growls - particularly when no one else was around. Cold spots, knocking on the doors. Hauntings don’t usually deter people, and this was no exception. People need to work, and the family here would hire quite a large staff. Not to mention, the novelty of a haunting has a tendency to draw people in. After all, there isn’t anything particularly dangerous about the phenomena I just described.

“The house’s reputation took a turn for the worse a little over fifteen years ago. The family who lived here - an elderly couple and their adult son - dropped dead of no apparent cause. _Death_ is dangerous, and the lack of cause prevents any kind of defense. The staff abandoned their positions. To this day, no one from town will step even a foot in the direction of this house. Some distant relative of the family inherited it, and was forced to hire an outsider; Mr. Lupin, of course. But even Lupin will only work here during the day.”

“Is it safer during the day?” Hermione asked.

“There’s no reason to believe it’s dangerous even at night,” Riddle responded. “Anecdotal evidence isn’t real evidence, and no apparent cause of death just means that the cause has yet to be discovered. Our job this summer is to prove whether this house is truly haunted.” He reached into the satchel beside his chair and pulled out three journals. “You will keep an extensive journal. Record your moods, and any cause for them that you can think of. Anything about this house or the grounds that catches you as interesting or odd. Write it all down. You don’t have to share them with each other, but know that you will be sharing them with me. If I see anything that seems to be an effect of the house, we’ll attempt to recreate the situation. Natured is ordered, patterned, and haunted houses are no exception.”

Harry reached for the journal that Riddle was holding out for him. “Will you be keeping a journal as well?”

“Yes,” Riddle answered. “You three were chosen based on your past experiences with the supernatural, but as I am here this summer, I am no exception to this experiment.”

“Have you not had any experience with the supernatural, then?”

Riddle’s eyes cast down momentarily, as if glancing off the little table that sat between their chairs. “Once, perhaps. It went undocumented, however, unlike your own.”

“I’d hardly say the experiences you’re thinking of count as ‘documented’.” Harry thought they were a little overblown in this environment. Surely, no one took the word of a small child that seriously.

“Not to my standards, no, but an article in the newspaper is more than undocumented. _Two_ articles is worth notice. But all this conversation of the supernatural can wait.” Riddle’s gaze moved from his face to the other two, addressing them all. “You have had a journey, and I imagine you’re rather tired. Keep the journals with you, you never know what exactly might happen. For now, though, we’ll call it a night.”

The three of them must have been tired, as none of them argued. Empty glasses were gathered on the side table, the curtains were drawn, and the fire was put out. In the hall, Hermione and Luna departed down one direction together, headed toward their rooms. Harry paused for a second, trying to orient himself. He hadn’t paid enough attention to his surroundings when he’d taken off toward the other guests in his excitement. In the dark, the wall art and display tables looked even more foreign.

“I believe your room is next to mine.” Riddle’s voice startled him. Harry hadn’t realized he was still there. “At least, that is what Lupin told me when I arrived.” He nodded once and took off down the hall.

Harry waited barely a second before hurrying after him. The house itself didn’t feel frightening, but he shuddered at the possibility of getting lost in the maze of corridors. Beyond the safety of the drawing room lights, each hall became a narrowed-down version of the world. Every door along their path was shut, blocking any other space from view. But it didn’t make Harry feel claustrophobic - which he may have even expected - instead, it was almost comforting. There was no wind, no sound but their footsteps, no one watching. It was incredibly dark, but it wasn’t like standing on your own beneath a moonless sky. It was like burrowing beneath blankets in the middle of the night.

Despite the darkness, Riddle seemed to know where he was going well enough, turning down corridors without hesitance. Again, Harry realized he wasn’t paying much attention to his surroundings at all, having really only kept his eye on Riddle so he wouldn’t get left behind. Tomorrow, he would make more of an effort to learn the layout of the house. Or at least the path from his room to the other important places, like the kitchen or the drawing room.

“You aren’t what I expected,” he blurted out.

Riddle kept walking. “What did you imagine, when you received my invitation?” Harry wasn’t sure if the slight rise in the corner of Riddle’s mouth was his imagination.

“Oh, I don’t know. Round and rosy, I suppose. Someone fatherly, or even grandfatherly.” He had pictured someone with Riddle’s charisma, but also with a decades-worth of comfort in working with people.

“It’s true,” Riddle responded, “That I earned my position rather young. But I’ve found that I can accomplish anything I put my mind to, and I put my mind to this career many, many years ago.”

“And the experiment?”

“That too. And this summer, I will see it completed at last. That won’t be the end of things, though, naturally. There will be a paper. I’ll have to defend it to my colleagues.”

Harry tried to picture what that would be like, but all he could imagine were various versions of the Riddle he had originally expected looking down at the Riddle who stood before him now. He didn’t envy it. “Am I what you expected? When you sent the invitation?” He wanted to take the question back as soon as it left his mouth, but it was too late.

Riddle glanced at him without missing a step. Something sad seemed to cross his face, before it was schooled into an unreadable expression. “I don’t know, yet.”

Finally, Riddle’s pace slowed down, and he came to a stop outside a door. It took Harry a second, but he recognized the very next door as his own. “You were right, our rooms are next to each other.”

Riddle nodded. “We share a bathroom, in fact.”

“We do? Is that what was behind the other door in my room?” Harry had never even dreamed of having an en suite bathroom. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be disappointed that he’d have to share it with anyone else.

“Yes, the door leads to the bathroom that connects our rooms. Come, I’ll show you.” Riddle opened his bedroom door, gesturing for Harry to follow.

It was dark for a moment, but then Riddle flicked on the light switch, and the room was bathed in dim, yellow light. He strode through the room, intent on a door to the right, while Harry took in the space. In many ways, it was the mirror of his own room, though the windows were in different places. The woods were also darker, and the wallpaper was green. Peeking from beneath the bed was the corner of a suitcase, and Harry wondered briefly what it would be like to own such nice luggage.

Before he could be accused of being nosy, Harry tore his gaze away and followed Riddle to the bathroom door, just as Riddle was turning the light on in there as well. Of all the nice rooms Harry had seen in the house so far, the bathroom was quite possibly the nicest. It wasn’t a huge room by any means, rather it was a narrow space fitted between their much larger bedrooms, but it was nothing less than ornate. The exterior wall housed a single window, but it was a stained-glass art nouveau iris that provided a sense of privacy. Along the wall with Harry’s door was a clawfoot bathtub. The feet were intricate and silver, the tub a white porcelain, and together it gaze Harry the impression of pearls and moonlight. The walls of the room were gray, with panel molding that made Harry feel like he was in the bathroom of a palace. “Are all the bathrooms here like this?”

Riddle’s face folded into one of concentration. “I haven’t checked,” he admitted. He gently shook the thought aside, and set his gaze on Harry. “According to Lupin, you had quite the journey getting here. You can have a relaxing bath if you’d like; I won’t need to come in here tonight.”

A hot bath sounded wonderful, and Harry wondered what soaps Lupin might have stocked the cabinets with. “You know, I think I will.”

Riddle departed, and the door snapped quietly shut behind him. Harry stood still for a moment, realizing it was the first time he’d been alone since meeting Luna and Hermione. In the silence of the room, the exhaustion of the day seemed to sink into his bones. The muscles of his calves thumped painfully, radiating heat up and down his legs, into the balls of his feet which ached from carrying him for miles up to the house and through its corridors. His shoulders hurt, too, the phantom pressure from switching the strap of his bag back and forth still pushing down into the muscle. He adamantly refused to lean his head down and sniff his shirt. So long as he didn’t, he could assume that Riddle’s suggestion of a bath came from real concern for his physical well-being, and not from a desire to rid himself of a stench.

The cabinet above the sink was empty, perhaps waiting for them to fill it with their own toiletries. The linen cabinet at the end of the narrow room proved much more fruitful, as it was fitted with fluffy towels and washcloths, bars of soap, and glass bottles. Harry opened one of the bottles and found that it smelled of roses. Grabbing it, a bar of soap, and a towel, he set them down beside the tub to get the water running.

With the faucet on, the stream pouring into the tub drowned out the silence of the room, making him feel even more comfortable. He experimentally tipped the bottle of rose-smelling liquid in, and found his guess was correct. It was bubble bath. He’d never used bubble bath before - he hadn’t been allowed - but he’d seen it prepared once for Dudley. He tipped a bit more in, and soon the surface of the water was covered in large foam. In just a day he’d had more delights than the past year combined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really did not mean to go so long without updating! this chapter was honestly nearly finished for weeks, but work got really hectic, and i kept having to push it off :(


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